the gardener
by ThePaperBagPrincess
Summary: She is just Lorcan, the dreamer, the bookworm, the gardener.  He'll never look at her like that.  Will he?  Request fic for billyvmom. FemLorcan, not slash. T rating for my own paranoia.


**Valentine's Day fic for Brandy (billyvmom), who requested a female Lorcan. A bit un-canon for me, but I had surprising fun writing this... So it ISN'T slash, but it IS a James Sirius/Lorcan pairing. **

**I own none of the characters.**

**Enjoy! **

The snow is melting and Lorcan loves this time of year.

It isn't that she doesn't like the snow too. She is the first person to be out in a fresh fall, making footprints on the smooth, pristine surface, and lying back to make snow angels (and all right, she's eighteen, but she doesn't care; snow is ageless).

But now it's February, and the late fall they had at the end of January is disappearing and it finally feels like spring is on the way. Other people complain about this time of year, because it's grey and damp and the nights still close in early, and the melting snow turns everything to mud.

Lorcan likes the mud though, because it smells of spring and there are green shoots coming up through it. The ground is finally soft enough to dig, and she has been out all day, enjoying the milder weather and the feel of earth in her fingers, and the look of the garden as she begins to clear the winter debris away. This is her job. Her parents are both more interested in animals than plants, and her brother likes Quidditch better than either. Lorcan, for as long as she can remember, has loved to grow things.

Her mother always smiles, a little sadly, and tells her that she gets it from her grandmother. Lorcan's grandmother died long before she was born, when her mother was just a child, but she likes to feel that connection. She doesn't look like her grandmother; she looks like her mother, who looks like her own father. They all have the same dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes. Lysander looks more like the Scamander side; his hair is darker and curlier, although he shares the blue eyes.

So the only remainder of the shadowy memory-woman who gave birth to Luna Lovegood is in her granddaughter's love of the garden.

She goes inside as the dusk starts to fall. Her father has gone to some conference in Tibet, which means that her mother is cooking dinner tonight. Luna is about as good at cooking as Lorcan is, which means that she is terrible. It is definitely the men in the Scamander family who can create good food, but Lysander is not here either; Lorcan thinks he's at Molly's, but she often doesn't know where her brother is.

She kicks off her wellies and wanders along the passage, still in her muddy jeans and the mismatched woolly socks she wore inside the boots to keep her feet warm; one is pink and the other red and yellow stripes. But it doesn't matter, because there's only Mum to see, and Mum won't even notice. She frequently wears mismatched socks, and sometimes mismatched shoes as well.

Lorcan slips past the open kitchen doorway, through which she can see her mother drifting around, humming to herself, and goes into the empty, dim lounge instead. It's a relief to get into the warmth, and she pulls out her wand and lights several candles that are scattered around the room. It makes a nice glow, and it's softer on the eyes than the main light. Lorcan pulls a book out of the bookcase and sinks into a chair with a contented sigh, using a quick lumos spell to direct a slightly brighter light onto the page.

Her contentment does not last long. She heard a knock at the front door, and her mother goes to open it. Voices ring out in the kitchen; she hears her mother, sounding surprised, and another voice.

A deeper voice, and a familiar one. Lorcan's heart clenches at the sound of it because there is no mistaking the tones of James Potter's voice. She knows it like she knows the feel of earth under her fingers and the smell of not-quite-spring in the air. She's known James forever. He's her brother's best friend, despite the two year age gap, because they play Quidditch together. He's round here quite a lot, sometimes by himself to see Lysander, and sometimes with his family. She ought to be used to it by now, but she's not. She doesn't think she ever will be.

Because James Potter is the only boy she's ever wanted. The only one who makes her heart race just with a smile. The only one who makes her knees weak by walking into a room. The only one she wants to grab and hold and _never_never let go. But he's James Potter; popular, loud and larger than life. He's the one _all_ the girls want, and he's known to be fussy. Some of the prettiest girls in Hogwarts threw themselves at his head over the years, and he turned them all down.

And she's just quiet, dreamy Lorcan, who likes books and growing vegetables, and is always in a pair of shabby jeans and who wouldn't know how to apply liquid eyeliner properly to save her life. She is a friend, because they've been friends since they were babies, but otherwise, she might as well be invisible, she thinks. She gave up hoping a long time ago. She's not sure she ever really hoped. Just dreamed.

"Lysander's not here, but Lorcan's just in the sitting room, I think," she hears her mother's voice, and almost groans. No, it's okay, Lorcan, she tells herself. You can do this. You can pretend, the way you always do.

And then the door is opening and he's there, grinning at her.

"Bloody hell, Lorcan," he says, "It's a bit dark in here, isn't it?"

"I like it," she retorts, "What are you doing here, Jamie?" And she wants to bite her tongue off, because she sounds so unwelcoming, as if she doesn't want him to be here.

He shrugs and throws himself down in the chair right beside hers.

"I just thought I'd come round... And your mum just invited me for dinner."

"Oh, lucky you," she says wryly, "You get to try Mum's cooking. You know Lysander's out, right?"

"Yeah, your mum told me," he grins at her, "That's okay. You're here. And you know me; I'll eat anything."

And it's stupidstupid_stupid_, but her heart gets a little bit warmer at those words - '_you're here' -_ even though she knows he doesn't mean them like that.

"So, you're not out doing anything tonight?" he asks, and she turns red, because when is she _ever_ out doing anything in the evenings?

"No," she says, a little bit resentfully, "Why should I be?"

He looks at her, eyebrows raised.

"Well, I just wondered... That's good for me, I suppose," his eyes come to rest on her feet and he grins, "Nice socks, Scamander."

She scowls at him, and wishes he wasn't the only person other than Lysander who can ruffle her feathers.

"Shut up."

"Not a very witty comeback," he shakes his head in mock disappointment, "You usually manage better than that."

"James," she says, ignoring his comments, "Why did you actually come over here?"

For the first time, he looks a bit uncomfortable.

"Well... I brought you something..."

She looks at him, her book falling out of her grasp.

"You brought _me_ something, or you brought _us_ something?"

"You," he grins sheepishly at her, and she doesn't think she's ever seen James Potter looking sheepish before, but she doesn't understand what it means, "Just you."

He produces a very small packet and hands it to her.

"I got them off Uncle Neville," he tells her casually.

She looks at it, and holds it closer to the nearest candle to read the small writing on the side, although she already knows that it is a packet of seeds.

"I remembered you were talking about starting your own Healer's Garden," he explains, "I thought that would get you started. There are a whole lot of different seeds in there, but they're all herbs with healing properties."

She looks at him, not quite believing that this is the same careless, thoughtless James Potter she has always known.

"You got them for _me_?" she asks at last, "But _why_?"

He grins at her, but she thinks he looks almost worried.

"Well... it's Valentine's Day, Lorcan..."

"It is?" she frowns, then suddenly realises what he's said and her breath catches. Wait... no... he doesn't mean it like that. He's just brought them as a friend... because he feels sorry for her, because she doesn't have a date on Valentine's Day... although neither does he, she realises, or he wouldn't be having dinner here. And the gift is such a personal one...

She meets his eyes and it's hard to see in the candlelight, but she still thinks he looks worried.

"Lorcan?" he sounds more unsure than she's ever heard him before, "Have I just freaked you out?"

She blinks at him. _Yes_.

"No. I just don't get it..."

"Well... I don't know how else to say it..." and suddenly he isn't in the chair beside hers any more, he's moved onto the arm of her chair and she can feel the warmth of his side against her shoulder and she just _knows_ she's blushing and is very thankful for the dimness of the candles as she looks up at him.

And then he bends down and kisses her, very gently and slightly hesitantly. Not at all how she had always imagined it would be to be kissed by James Potter – and _yes_, she's imagined it so often. He pulls away, and she sees the question in his eyes, and the nervousness behind it, and her world is spinning and she's feeling dizzy. But she manages to smile, and he smiles tentatively back.

"D'you understand now?"

She stares up at him and her heart is soaring as her smile gets wider and she shakes her head.

"No. You need to explain some more."

He laughs and kisses her again, feather-light kisses on her lips and then along her jaw.

"I knew Lysander was at Molly's," he tells her breathlessly between kisses, "He told me he was going. I wanted to see you by yourself, nobody else around."

He pull back and looks intensely at her.

"I love you, Lorcan Scamander. I've loved you for years, it just took me a while to realise it. _Now_ do you understand? Because I don't think I can say it any clearer..."

She can't answer. She doesn't need to, because her eyes are shining in the candlelight, and if her smile got any wider, it would crack. He kisses her again, burying his face in her neck and inhaling deeply. She giggles and pushes him half-heartedly away, finding her voice.

"I've been in the garden all day. I must smell awful!"

He sniffs her hair.

"You smell of air and earth and trees and _you_. That's not awful."

He slides into the chair beside her, although there isn't much room, and his arm finds its way around her waist and his lips find hers again.

"I wanted to tell you at Christmas," he murmurs, "But I didn't think you were interested, and anyway, we were never alone..."

"I was always interested," she says candidly, "If you'd told me while we were both still at Hogwarts, I'd have been interested _then_. I just never told anyone; not even Lysander. I've loved you longer than you've loved me, James Potter."

"I never told anyone either," he admits, "Lysander's going to kill me."

She shakes her head.

"No he's not. He can't, not without being a hypocrite. He's going out with your cousin. Are you still staying for dinner?" she changes the subject hopefully.

"Your mum... he says hesitantly.

"Won't even notice anything. She's oblivious. You know what she's like."

She pulls him back down into another kiss, because she wants to make the most of this before she wakes up and realises that it's all just an amazing dream.

In the kitchen, Luna listens to the silence, and smiles secretly to herself, because mothers don't always need to be told.

* * *

**Not my best effort, I don't think. And oh, but it's fluffy! I feel like I'm drowing in a giant marshmallow.**

** But reviews are nice, even if they're just to tell me you feel like you're drowning in a giant marshmallow too...**


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